Seventeen
by Ish Potato Fiend
Summary: Kai needs shelter for the night, and the place he chooses forces him to recall painful memories. (Written for Yamagata's birthday, which is Nov. 9, 2003.)


**Seventeen**

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**Disclaimer:** I invented Akira. I wrote the whole thing, beginning to release parts of the manga when I was not yet out of my mother's womb. Ambition's been in the family since way back. Yamagata and Kai are my characters, and – ... C'mon, you all know I didn't make this stuff. I just love writing about it! Bwa.

**Warnings:** Very angst-ridden. There's some French in here that ought to be apologized for – literally, in one case – so if swearing's not your cup of tea, steer clear. I suppose there could be slashfluff in here if you really feel like interpreting it that way, but as you can probably tell from the genres I've labelled this with, I didn't design it to be that way. Take your pick.

**Notes:** I'm not sure what kind of a timeline the Akira manga goes by, but I've got a feeling I'm stretching it out a bit in this fic. Anyhow, this is an angsty little fic that I wrote for Yamagata's birthday (Nov. 9, 2003). Any references to actual events in the Akira storyline are manga-oriented, but you don't need to have read the manga to understand this. (Although I highly suggest reading the manga if you haven't already. IT IS GOD. I mean... good. It's good. shifty eyes)

Hope you enjoy!

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It was cold, and there was nowhere to go. Bigger men, tougher men – bigger, tougher _women_, too, had muscled their way to the shelters, first. The big, anorexic skyscrapers, thin sheets of haphazardly painted wood and cardboard over bruised skeletons, and nothing on the inside, nothing a building should have had.

_Should've bought a better coat while I still could. But how could I have known _this_ would happen? No one knew, ever. No one would have guessed at the kind of shit this place'd turn into._

Dusk was falling. In the old days, that would have been dangerous. Gangs and criminals used to take the sun's stumble down the sky as their cue to make their own trip, to destroy the equilibrium that Neo-Tokyo worked to hard to maintain in the daylight hours. Nowadays, darkness only made it harder to see. The crimes that had been hindered by the sun now trickled throughout the dead, infested city, because it didn't matter whether anyone saw them now.

Everything they did was small potatoes compared to what _he_ could do. To think Tetsuo had once been the loser, the runt, the hopeless romantic that had to be mocked and pushed around seemed impossible now. He didn't seem like the same Tetsuo, didn't look like the same Tetsuo – but he was. He was the one who had consumed the Capsules.

Scattered them to the wind, not caring where they went, because everywhere was his territory and he could find them if he wanted to – but why would he?

Kai ducked his head down against the biting wind that clawed at his extremities en route, reddening his nose, ears, and cheeks. Steam poured from his mouth when he exhaled, reminding him that he could really use a cigarette right now, but he didn't dare act on the impulse. The pain of abstinence was a small price compared to the sacrifices he'd have to make in order to get his hands on one lousy smoke.

A particularly large cloud of steam, boosted by hopelessness. There had to be _some_place.

He sniffed, loudly, wiped his nose on his sleeve. Why it was easiest to get sick in the places that it was most important to Kai didn't know, but illness had been one of the milder cruel twists of fate dealt to him in the past few months. If only he could get ahold of some tissues or something; his shirt sleeve was starting to feel stiff and uncomfortable, not to mention totally gross. The only pieces of fabric he could trust were his own, though, and so he had to make due.

Throbbing filled his head; the ache had returned. He shrugged his shoulder against one ear, hard, trying to numb the pain in it. A piece of tin shingling fell from the roof of a structure across the street to his right, and its tinny clatter was reduced to a dull thud through the phlegmish wax that seemed to fill his entire head.

Somewhere, _anywhere, _because he hated sleeping outside and he couldn't fight off those who had already claimed territory. Someplace had to have remained untouched.

He was on the outskirts of downtown Neo-Tokyo now. That some windows were still intact, that the air was not completely occupied with shouting and swearing and the reek of bodily fluids told him this. The outskirts had been abandoned because there wasn't food there. Lady Miyako and, for God's sake, _Master_ Tetsuo operated in the center, and their competing factions doled out food of sometimes dubious enhancement to hungry civilians willing to swear their allegiance. If Kai were going to find anywhere to stay tonight, it would have to be here, in the abandoned, desolate region, as opposed to the heavily populated, desolate inner city.

It was then that he saw the building, and all of his insides wrenched painfully at the sight of it. Kai shrugged at his throbbing ear again and stared up at the ghost complex. Someone he knew had lived there, once – someone who would never see it again.

_You live all the way out here?_

_Yeah. What's the deal?_

_I dunno. Everyone else lives closer to the school._

_So? There ain't no J.D., ah, vocation centre around here. 'Sides, it's not like I spend any time around here anyway. It's just the 'rents, coupla' pains in the ass._

_Oh._

_Yeah, right. Now you comin' or are you comin'?_

Now his nose was running in a team, the double-threat of illness and overwhelming grief. It was that one death, he felt, that had started the whole thing. Before that, things hadn't been insane. Before that, people were alive and well, fucking and boozing and spitting in the face of life, not clinging to it in exchange for every shred of dignity.

_What's up with your folks?_

_Uh, nothing. They just... don't want me around today._

_Yeah? That's fucked up._

_Yup._

_Well, lissen. If you gotta stay someplace, crash _chay moi_. I'll like, sleep on the floor or somethin'. It's no problem._

_Really? Your parents, um, wouldn't mind?_

_Nah. You're small; they probably won' even notice you._

_Oh. Thanks._

_Hey, it's totally cool. Anytime you don't have a place to stay, you know, you just head over here._

Room 512, fifth floor. The apartment had only seven floors, a meagre amount compared to the sometimes twenty-something per building found downtown, like the one Kai had lived in. Kaneda used to make wry comments comparing Yamagata's small building to his unenviable IQ or, if he weren't entirely sober, another asset that men tend to hold dear. But there would be none of that now, Kai reflected, his sensibility appalled that he would become nostalgic over Kaneda's immature humour. Anything familiar now, though, anything friendly would be good, whether wielding a killer wit or no. 1

He approached the building, wondering whether it was appropriate to take advantage of a dead man's invitation. The door swung open without much resistance and warily he put a foot inside, as though entering a graveyard.

It was too late both in the day and in the year for the open doorway to send a cascade of light into the foyer, but Kai could still make out several details. The floor, waiting chairs, and front desk were blanketed with dust that irritated his eyes and was no doubt only working to worsen his sickly condition. He dragged a finger experimentally across a tabletop and left a groove in the filth that was at least a centimetre deep. Kai had never been one for housekeeping, but this place was in desperate need of a tune-up. Every place was, these days.

Holding down the elevator button proved that the apartment's technology was still in working condition. Common sense told him not to get into the elevator, but he felt too tired and stuffy to care – when the door dragged to the side, Kai stepped in, at the same time examining the reflection given to him by the mirrored back wall of the elevator.

The image was not impressive. His hair was matted and disheveled, its characteristic swish appearing as dreary as he felt. Smears covered his face, and so did bruises whose origins he could not recall. His eyes donned deep circles, and his nose was red and running – he swiped at it again with his sleeve, leaving a dark streak on it. The fabric wasn't soft anymore; it was crusty and stained, and he was willing to bet it reeked, as well. He hadn't had a chance to change his clothes in days.

Dispirited, he turned back to the door, watching the numbered buttons light up one after the other. Three passed and four was illuminated, and when it dimmed, five blinked on. Once again, the elevator door, as if through massive effort, slid slowly open, rousing puffs of dust from the grooves it rolled along.

Kai took a deep breath, which proved to be a mistake. He stumbled out of the elevator coughing violently, spitting into a dark corner some of the vile substance that clogged his throat, and then allowed himself a loud sniff. Drums were beating in his right ear canal, making him have to fight to think coherently.

The fifth floor was cloaked in deeper obscurity than the foyer, but a dim light originated from a window at the end of the hallway. Kai walked away from it, passing room 502, 504, 506, until he stood in front of 512. For several seconds he stared up at the greening letters than had once shone gold.

And then he threw his arm against the doorway and leaned heavily into it, squeezing his eyes shut against the rough, besmeared sleeve as his mind threw him back in time.

_Shit. What the hell happened here?_

_I dunno. Looks pretty bad, though – maybe we oughtta head out._

_No, man, I wanna know what went down. Let's see if we can find the bartender._

_All right, I guess. I'm not feeling good about this, though._

_An' I ain't, either, man. This is Capsule turf, this is the fuckin' Harukiya. Someone's done somethin' real bad here, and damn if I'm gonna jus' let 'em walk away from it._

"Damn you," Kai hissed. "Damn you and your goddamned justice fix."

The hallway remained silent. Outside, a faint yell was heard, followed by a crescendo of voices, a bang, and then all was silent once more. Cold air creeped through and up underneath Kai's clothing, raising goosebumps on his skin and standing the hairs on his neck and arms on end.

_Holy shit. Uh. Found him, Kai._

_What? Where – holy shit. Let's get outta here. Let's – fuck, we've gotta get –_

_Wait, shut up a second. You hear that? Who is that? Who's laughing? Who the fuck would be laughing right now?_

_It sounds kind of like –_

_Tetsuo! You? What the _fuck_? Why?_

And then Tetsuo had laughed. He had started to laugh as soon as the corpse of the barkeep had been discovered, and continued to cackle insanely even as –

Even as...

Kai shook his head in a stoic attempts to disallow his thoughts passage into that part of his memory. Standing upright once more, he tried the doorknob of 512, and was not surprised to find that it was unlocked. The door swung open to reveal the apartment, now little more than a grave forgery of what Kai remembered it to be. He remembered the futon that Yamagata had slept on the night that Kai had appropriated his bed; he saw the painting hanging over the electric fireplace that had never worked, the heirloom painting Yamagata's father's father had painted; and there was the stove that Kaneda had used to show off his expert ramen-cooking skills and then promptly botching it, Tetsuo taking over the rather unchallenging task of preparing the group's dinner of instant noodles.

_Can you bite the hand that feeds if it hits you, first?_ Kai found himself wondering. But he wouldn't allow himself to think about that. He turned his attention instead to a box of Kleenex that sat in the middle of the dining table, a little box of fallible hope. He grabbed a tissue from it and relieved his nostrils. The drumming in his ear lessened slightly.

Picking up the Kleenex box, he headed towards the door in the north corner of the main room and opened it.

It was a boy's room. Bare walls save for a ripped band poster and motorcycle magazine tear-outs; dark blue covers lay in a messed heap on the plain, wood-framed bed, with a nondescript white pillow by the headboard.

Kai sat down wearily on the bed, resting his chin in his hands and looking about the room. Clothes were still strewn on the floor and thrown over the desk chair, probably collecting mold by now. The digital clock blared out the time – 5:08 PM, so early – and underneath that, in smaller print, the date: 11/9. November ninth.

Pain filled his mind as he bit hard into his lip in a futile attempt to stifle the tears that stung at his eyes.

_He would have been seventeen today._

Now, there was nothing for it. The memory flooded his head like a gruesome film he couldn't tear his eyes from – a strangled yell cut short by the sickening sound of a skull imploding, tendrils of blood whipping across the walls. The stench of iron had filled the derelict room, making Kai dizzy, nauseated.

Kai began to sing in a whisper,

"Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you–"

His voice was rasping, weak, reaching out blindly after the tune he knew so well.

The sun and mountain emblem had been rendered unrecognizable by deep red blood. The limbs of a dead body twitched once or twice, and the went slack. Kai had averted his eyes, disgusted, horrified, but Tetsuo just laughed and laughed and laughed and turned to Kai, but Kai had twisted on his heels and _ran_ ...

"Happy birthday, Yamagata –"

Kai shuddered and lay down on the cold, neglected bed, pulling the covers up over him. The sun had almost completely set, now, and Kai stared up through the darkness at the ceiling.

There had been so much _blood_.

"Happy birthday to you."

The last note wavered and died prematurely, cut off by soft sobbing, silence, and, finally, blissful unconsciousness.

It was 5:12 PM.

Kai awoke twelve hours later at 5:23 AM. It was still dark. He elected not to use the elevator in exiting the apartment; rather, he stumbled down five flights of stairs to the lobby, where he pushed the door open and headed out into the freezing air. He planned to stake out some other territory to stay that night.

It was Tuesday, November 10th, and the date meant nothing to him.


End file.
